"Nothing; absolutely nothing. I told you all I said as near as I can remember. It's a matter of principle, Emily. I think you are wrong, dearest. I----" "Oh, sir; then you will sacrifice me, will you, to your principle? Very well, Mr. Revere, understand one thing: if you do not give that letter to her as soon as you get it back, you do not get me. I will not have any one think I am a second choice." "But, Emily----" "Don't say anything more to me!" she flashed out. "I never was so angry in my life! Perhaps you are tired of me," impatiently and proudly. "Perhaps you are tired of me," answered Richard, shortly, his own quick temper having at last reached the outbreaking point. "I think you are very cruel indeed, to want to hurt this poor girl's feelings, and I do not see why you are crying now, either," he added, as Emily, under the stimulus of this reproach, the force of which she recognized, put her handkerchief to her face and burst into tears. "It seems to me you have entirely the best of the game. My engagement is broken; I am free to love you, and I do, and to marry you, and I hope to. You have me," he went on with unconscious egotism; "that ought to content you. Josephine will know, as soon as she sees us together, that I love you," he continued, sharply, "and that's enough." "I wonder what she would think of your love if she saw us together now," wailed Emily. "I don't care what you say; it's humiliating to me; it's brutal treatment. You say I have everything. You say I ought to be satisfied with you. I'm not! So, there!" "Very well," said Revere, coldly; "I will leave you to think it over, and then, if you insist, I shall give her the letter, and you will be sorry for it as long as you live." "I won't!" determinedly. "I hope you will, anyway," with equal determination. "I never dreamed you could be so rude and so unkind to me," she sobbed. "I am sorry that----" "Perhaps you would like to break our engagement, Miss Sanford?" coldly. "Oh, as you please, Mr. Revere," with well-simulated indifference. "There is a carriage coming up the drive," he remarked, glad of a diversion when they had reached this uncomfortable point in the conversation. "My mother and Josephine are in it." "Mercy!" exclaimed the girl, secretly glad of the interruption, too; "and they will see that I have been crying!" "As to the engagement?" continued Richard, doggedly; but Emily started suddenly to her feet and ran up to the house, leaving his question unanswered. He followed her moodily and gloomily, feeling very low in spirits as well as very much annoyed.